1987: Hemoptysis
by VolcanicPizza
Summary: Mangle lives a repetitive, boring life. This is to be expected, as being an animatronic entertainer in a perpetual state of disrepair leaves much to be desired. However, Freddy's does not exist in isolation, and when the threat of nuclear war reaches its breaking point the animatronics will need to scramble to make things right in the only way they can: give gifts and give life...
1. Second Revision: Phase One

**A/N: Okay, this is the third and hopefully last rewrite of this fanfiction. The plot is still the same, but instead of jumping around for ten chapters before getting to the main plot as I was going to originally I'm just going to get right to the point. Furthermore, I felt like Jon angsting about his life was boring and predictable, so I've changed the point of view to someone more interesting.**

* * *

 **PART ONE: MANGLE**

All but a few of the children are gone, and the stragglers are being quietly steered out by parents and staff. The kitchen has already been locked for the night, and the other animatronics are still just wandering about as always, no real direction in their meandering.

As for me?

Well, there's no point in wandering around. Besides, I wouldn't be able to get very far unless I exhibit a variety of... unorthodox, shall we say, means to move around, and someone would probably just knock me off the wall or ceiling anyway. Many would likely do so for the simplistic pleasure of seeing my mechanical limbs flail about as I desperately try to recover my lost footing and pride. Ostensibly, however, they would simply be trying to stop me from threatening the structural integrity of the walls and ceiling, spouting this blatant lie to whatever angry authority figure stampedes up to them. I know from experience.

Officially, I am Toy Foxy, the redesigned and vastly better (at least initially) model of my predecessor who currently rots in a back room most of the time. Many of the children refer to me as Foxy despite the obvious differences between us, but why bother explaining that to them when they'll grow bored and run off before I've even said a few sentences? The employees refer to me alternatively as "Mangle" and "the Mangle" due to my state of permanent disrepair, and while I'm not particularly fond of either I suppose that there are worse nicknames they could have chosen. "That fox thing" is occasionally thrown around by the parents, horrified that their _precious_ and _completely innocent_ children would want to be near something as horrific as I.

Your kids aren't as innocent as you think, parents, and I feel no sorrow over breaking the illusion, or at least I wouldn't if you'd get closer to me than several yards away. They've come up with some "redesigns" for me that only a demented and sadistic mind could pioneer. (I'm still not sure where they got that second endoskeleton head from.)

Again, I know from experience.

There are a lot of things experience has taught me. It's strange, considering what a comparably short time I've been active for. Foxy has told me occasionally about his years performing for children long ago, but never more than a few anecdotes before he remembers that several of his parts have been used to repair me and goes back to ignoring the rest of the world. That's around the time that I run just in case he decides to turn on me, which is always a possibility around the older animatronics.

Perhaps it's his antagonistic nature that caused him to be scrapped? Certainly wouldn't be out of the question, at least.

I'm not even sure why management kept our predecessors in that back room. The excuse I've heard is that they're useful for spare parts, but if that's the case why weren't they scrapped and dissected completely? I suspect that they were kept for sentimental value, but that's just a theory. A Mangle theory.

Shaking my main head quietly and wincing at the sudden grinding of parts from somewhere within me, I refocus my attention on the quickly-emptying dining hall. I tend to ramble when I have had a bad day, and since pretty much every day is a bad day... well, let's just say that I ramble a lot, mentally and verbally (and occasionally at the same time, about different topics) and leave it at that, shall we?

The doors suddenly open as someone walks in, and I turn my second head to face the entrance as well, interest sparking in me. Usually people only walk out around this time of day, and so that instantly sets off mental alarms for me.

Quickly I scan him. Though he's wearing a black hoodie (this article of clothing, I've been taught, is a sign of a troublemaker) and has a suspicious bulge in one pocket, his face comes up negative in my database. Regardless, he does have a blank, almost cold, expression, on his face, and so I resolve to keep a close eye on him.

Of course, the other animatronics aren't content with just watching him. The man has barely even taken a few steps into the building before Toy Freddy walks up to him with an equally blank expression, Toy Bonnie and Toy Chica trailing behind him. He doesn't even bother glaring at me for my apathy. They've all grown used to my lack of motivation, and it only vaguely bothers them now.

"What are you doing here?" Toy Freddy asks the man in a falsely pleasant voice, causing him to start a bit. "I'm sorry, what?" The new arrival seems more than a little shocked by the large animatronic bear confronting him in the doorway. Understandable. He likely hasn't heard of our incredibly advanced AIs.

"I thought I was clear enough." Toy Freddy's voice doesn't change at all. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" It's jarring, to say the least.

"Golly, I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition," mutters the man, chuckling quietly at some inside joke before continuing. "My name's Jon Scheddle. I'm here for a job interview."

Toy Freddy is silent for a moment, clearly considering the plausibility of this reply, before nodding and shifting to the side. "Very well, Jon Scheddle. Continue." He doesn't seem very pleased, for some reason.

Jon nods to Toy Freddy and walks past him quickly. As he passes by my corner, not bothering to look inside, I distinctly hear him mutter, "Jerkass bear. This job better be as great as Jerry promised."

I wonder what _jerkass_ means. Though I understand the word _jerk,_ as the kids throw it around far more than they really should, I do not know what it means when the suffix _ass_ is applied to it, and resolve to ask the children tomorrow. They're usually quite eager to indulge in my queries about the outside world, usually while they're tearing me apart, though. Foxy probably knows as well, as his vocabulary is fairly large, but whether he's currently in the mood to tell me is debatable.

My curiosity on that matter is quickly swept away by another question that has plagued me since the children first made tearing me apart a favored pastime: what is our future? I've inquired as to this to both my fellow animatronics and the human staff and recieved a wide variety of responses. Some of my favorites are "The future's always changing, and we all have a hand in causing those changes," "If you want a picture of our future, imagine a boot stamping on a face... forever," "Whatever management decides," and "Why the hell do you think I know? Get out of my room!"

Actually, the last one isn't one of my favorites. I have no idea why I included it in that list.

Anyway, the thing I've noticed is that nobody's ever given me a straight prediction of what the future will be like. The most specific I've gotten is "by 1990 the USSR will fall apart and we'll all be safe. Now please go back to your stage, I'm busy." Even then, I don't know what this USSR is. I asked the Puppet, since they know a lot more than they really should, but all I got was a vague "oppressor of millions, destroyer of worlds" before they descended into nonsensical rambling, and then some kids came in for prizes and I had to leave. Maybe they're a rival restaurant franchise.

Hmm...

I've never asked the Puppet what they thinks will happen in the future. Maybe they'll give me a straight answer for once, but that's probably just wishful thinking. Regardless, it's not as though I've got anything better to do.

Disentangling my various limbs from the position the kids left me in, I do my best to walk over to Prize Corner without tripping. Surprisingly, I succeed. Seems I'm getting better at adapting to the new configurations the kids slap together.

Stumbling slightly in the doorway but maintaining my footing, I gently knock on the Puppet's box with what might have once been my foot. "Are you awake?" I ask quietly.

Almost immediately, the lid springs open and they poke their head over the box's edge, permanent smile still attached to their face. "I never sleep. Not truly, anyway. What is it you want to know?"

"Well, I've been thinking," I start carefully, lowering myself into a passable sitting position.

"Always a dangerous thing." interrupts the Puppet. "Go on."

"Well... what's going to happen in the future?" I ask, slowly phrasing my question. "What will become of us?"

"Of you, you mean." I must appear shocked, as the Puppet chortles gently. "What, you don't think I couldn't see your disguised selfishness? Surely you should know by now that you can't hide anything from me." They don't allow me to say anything before launching into another statement. "At ease, reassembled fox. I do not blame you. The others are very much like that as well."

Finally regaining my composure, I shuffle my front two limbs- I think an arm and a leg- nervously. "My question still stands."

"Your torment will come to an end, if that's what you're curious about." The Puppet maintains a blank expression on their perpetually unmoving face. "You will not feel the pain of disassembly ever again at some point. But what is more important is the coming blaze."

"The... what?"

"Incidents outside the walls of our little prison have always affected us, and that will never cease to be the case." If I wasn't confused before, I certainly am now. "The raging storm of fire will affect us just as much as them, perhaps even more so due to our unfortunate restraints. The elegy will be read just as much for us as them as the inferno consumes all."

I don't know what an elegy is, but that's the thing I'm least confused about. "Alright, I'm just going to leave now..."

They ignore me as I back out of the room, continuing to recite vague intimidating phrases, and before I know it I'm back in my little room.

Alone.

Again.

Well, better than listening to the Puppet's continual ranting.

There's a sudden thumping of feet, and I elevate my second head from the pile I've dropped myself in to see Jon Scheddle storming past. He's clearly in a bad mood, and as he passes I hear him mutter "stupid animatronics... minimum-wage job... I've been to college, for Christ's sake, and I get stuck as the damn janitor... just my flipping luck."

I don't know what he's so angry about. I'd gladly choose being a janitor over my current role.


	2. Second Revision: Phase Two

After my discussion with the Puppet, I don't truly know how to feel. I lay apathetically on the floor, occasionally drumming my fingers on the tiles, and watch the staff and robots pass, their blurred reflections occasionally flickering across the polished floor.

The floor in my corner, however, isn't as well-cleaned, and dirt, grease, pizza sauce, and what I hope is water but have a bad feeling is urine coat the floor. My eyes dart across the murky tiles as I try to pass the time by finding patterns upon the floor, but only find marginal success.

A dull thud yanks me from my uncertain reverie, and I glance up to see Jon setting a bucket against the wall as he wields a mop in the other hand, now wearing a tattered uniform. He's humming quietly to himself, but cuts off abruptly as he turns around and sees me lying there in an awkward ball.

I close my eyes, unwilling to see the typical mix of mild disbelief and pity that crosses the face of new employees, but in the second before the eye on my secondary head closes I can see the expected emotions flicker across his face, combined with something else, almost like... fear? I distinctly hear him mutter, "It can't hurt you, none of them can, just ignore it," before there's a splash of water and I hear the mop slowly moving back and forth across the tiles. It's almost soothing in a way, but I ignore it. Jon doesn't seem the fondest of animatronics like myself, and I know firsthand the vast potential humans have for cruelty.

The mopping suddenly stops, and I crack my eye open a sliver to see the mop right in front of my face. Jon moves the mop back, and I hear him take a shivery breath before he slowly reaches his foot out and pokes my face with it. When I don't respond, he begins poking at me some more, sliding my head gradually across the floor.

Opening my eye just a little wider, enough for him to be able to see that I'm active, I quietly say, "If you wanted me to move, you could've just asked."

Jon shuffles backwards very quickly, grabbing ahold of his mop with both hands like it's a spear. As if that'd be enough to defend against me if I really wanted to hurt him. It's almost amusing.

I open both eyes fully and turn both of my heads to face him. "Are you always this jumpy? I'm not going to bite your face off or something."

Jon mutters something including _these_ _animatronics, I swear to God_ under his breath before relaxing slightly and letting his mop fall back to the floor. "So not only are you active, but you're snarky as well. Look, I just want to make ends meet, so make this easier on both of us and move."

If he'd asked before shoving my face around with his shoe, despite his less-than-polite tone, I might have agreed. But now? Well, he's lucky that I'm physically incapable of picking him up and throwing him across the pizzeria, and I convey this via a short glare from each head.

Jon is clearly unsettled by this, though he does his best to hide it. "Fine, then. Your floor stays dirty." With a small grunt, he picks up the bucket and leaves.

I don't mind. The contrast created by the gleaming tiles on one side and the dark mess on the other is much more interesting, anyway. Staring at the sharp divide between them, I ignore the passing hours and the staff leaving until the lights dim for the night and there's nobody left.

Raising my eyes in the darkness, I strain and am shortly rewarded by a brief flicker of light from the show stage, illuminating my three main counterparts for a few seconds before the room plunges into darkness once more.

Personally, I don't know why there are these incessant flickerings of light around the pizzeria for most of the night. It started a few nights back and shows no sign of stopping in the near future. The others tend to ignore the lights, but I myself find them reassuring. I don't do much snooping around at night, unlike the others, so I don't know where they're coming from. I could ask the others, but it's a tossup if they'd tell me or keep me in the dark for laughs.

For how long I lie there, I'm not entirely sure. Time seems to pass much more quickly during the night, so it's probably been a few hours that I've been lost in my own apathy before I hear clunking footsteps.

 _One of the others? Why would they be over here at night?_ With a slight frown, I right myself to see the shadowy outline of Toy Freddy. He's paused just before entering my corner, and seems to be waiting for me to do something.

"What is it?" I ask quietly.

"You leaving, or not?" he asks. "Get up. All of us have to work, you know."

Reluctantly I stand and begin walking out into the dining hall, and Toy Freddy nods in satisfaction and strides confidently into the shadows.

As I cast my eyes around the dining hall, I suddenly notice a dim purple glow coming from Prize Corner. Curiously, I do my best to muffle my footsteps as I scuttle towards it, and as I get closer I can see the Puppet sitting upright in their box. There's a figure wearing a dark purple trenchcoat standing quietly in front of them, holding something in its hands. The security camera on the upper wall is shrouded in a purple mist.

The Puppet is the first to speak. "It's just as you promised. The time of fire and devastation was left behind."

"Please. I almost always follow through on my promises." chuckles the figure. "Are you satisfied with the current state of affairs?"

"It's only a few days until it all erupts again." The Puppet is silent for a moment. "How are we supposed to stop it?" They sound... genuinely frightened, and that scares me too. Because if they're terrified enough to lose their composure like this, then there really must be something wrong. "Why did you pick me?"

"Relax. This is only your first revision. Take this as an opportunity to... experiment. Analyze more closely what you could not before, and the effort shall be well worth it.." The purple light is just a little brighter now, and the figure's off-white teeth seem to suddenly erupt from the dark in a feral grin. "You get as many revisions as there are animatronics in this building, but after that I shall go, and your game will be over."

"I see." A shadow seems to cross both of their faces. "Thank you... what did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't." The figure draws their trenchcoat more tightly about their shoulders. "I shall go now, I think. I cannot realistically mask the camera forever, and eventually one of your comrades shall notice me... assuming they haven't already, that is. I shall see you very soon." The purple mist seems to clear almost immediately as they leave Prize Corner, and the Puppet watches as they retreat through the darkness.

I slowly begin to back away, always keeping contact with the wall, treading lightly as possible, never letting my eyes leave the Puppet. It doesn't seem to matter, though, as they dip their head and retreat silently into their box, but despite that it isn't until I'm by my corner that I feel truly safe enough to turn around and break into a run, complete with leaping to the ceiling past Parts and Service. It's there that I stop, my main head bobbing gently up and down as I consider my options.

And yet, no matter how much I think about how to approach this situation, despite the fact that I can feel my processors heating up, I can't come up with anything.

 _Perhaps it's best to simply set it aside. With something as seemingly important as this... The Puppet isn't dumb, they'll know that it's a bad idea to keep this from us. Yeah, they'll explain everything tomorrow._

And yet, despite having assured myself of this, I still feel a sense of growing unease.


End file.
